


Hots For Her

by PlasticEyes



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Mom-Mercy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 12:24:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7222231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlasticEyes/pseuds/PlasticEyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m going to check on her.”</p><p>“Lena, you can’t be serious.”</p><p>“I’m telling ya’ Angie, something’s up with her!”</p><p>“Lena –Lena she’s tried to kill you. Multiple times.”</p><p>“Well so have I!”</p><p>“Exactly dear.”</p><p>...<br/>(In which Widowmaker is distracted and Tracer takes it upon herself to figure out why. Mom-Mercy pointing out the obvious.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hots For Her

 “You’re a bit off today aren’t you love?”

When it comes down to the _actual_ shot. Aiming - _shooting_ the target assigned, where does the guts to pull that definite “click” of the trigger come from? Where is it derived from in the mentality of a persons form to perform the simple actions of setting off a guns metal hinge weighing with the contrasting balance of morality versus fatality?

“I am never off.”

Is a reply curled at the tongue from the very beginning.

But is still correct in a way. She wasn’t off. Despite having the ideal opportunity for an impeccable head shot at the sight of seeing Tracer walking(strange isn’t it?) and waving casually towards her --one pull of her finger and all her troubles would’ve been over. All of them.

Every single one of them.

Because Widowmaker doesn’t have problems. She honestly doesn’t _care_ enough to even have a problem and, if she did happen to maintain one at the slightest, then it’d easily be erased from existence.

Nonetheless it begins, swift kicks blocked and zips of a smoldering blue haze surround the rooftop while a rifle’s shots ring throughout the area. Difficult as always when it comes to pinning down the exact position of the giddy woman, especially in close ranged combat. However Widowmaker is skilled, Widowmaker is smart as she takes the initiative to give herself the space needed. Her attacks are wide ranged, making sure to stretch her limbs with every punch and keep constant reign on her personal bubble. No sooner would it be time for her to make a run for it and disappear once more into the shadows of the cities as always.

On the other hand of all this, Tracer was right. Widowmaker _was_ off. In the mind more than the physical objectives.  Whether she admitted it or not, her movements were undeniably, and more so embarrassingly sloppy.

“ _Well_ ,” and her gun is knocked form her hands, clattering to the building ground and screeching to a halt only a couple feet’s away from her. “Sure does look like it.”

She makes no movement to dive for her weapon. In fact, she makes no movement at all. Pokerfaced as always, a hushed silence encompassing her entire figure. Her offensive stance is shifted, straightening crouched legs and stiffening her back upwards. Tracer does the same, slightly confused at the sudden change in demeanor.

Aggressive to impassive in a heartbeat.

“You are cared very much by others, oui[yes?]”

Tracer, now very much baffled, scratched the back of her head with the tip of one of her blasters. “Er, yeah I’d like to think so. Why?”

And Tracer searched. She searched, she prodded, intent was her stare in the ten second silence she found herself locked into, Widowmaker doing the same. Tracer found, however, no emblematic love-like _flicker in thine eyes_. No “spark”, no glimmer of a twinkle. There was only a dank shade of black --black that was soon replaced with a gleaming red as her helmet enclosed her eyes and she was _gone_ with the wind.

Leaving a parting gift at her feet.

 _Of course,_ to which Tracer hardly managed to speed away from as it blinked a final red number before discharging and igniting the entire building.

_…_

_…_

_…_

 “I’m going to check on her.”

 “Lena, you can’t be serious.”

“I’m telling ya’ Angie, something’s up with her!”

“Lena –Lena she’s tried to kill you. Multiple times.”

“Well so have I!”

“Exactly dear.”

“Look Angela, Widow’s never had an off day before. Never. Dontchya’ think it’s just a bit weird that we haven’t seen her in a while?”

“Mmm-no. Now be a darling and help me do these dishes will you?”

“I –Angela! I’m being serious here!”

“I am too Lena, these dishes aren’t going to clean themselves you know. And anyway, you don’t even know where she lives in the first place.”

“Do too.”

“Do not.”

“Do too!”

“Do not.”

“Angela,” she scoffed, exasperated at last and finally submitted her hands to grabbing a dry cloth and beginning to wipe the wet dishes. “You’re supposed to be helping me.”

“Look dear,” handing over a wet, yet cleaned dish. “I know you have hots for this woman-”

“I do _not_ have-- have “hot’s” for-”

“But this is just getting out of hand now! You need to remember the basics. She’s the bad guy, and you’re the…” she paused, waiting for an expectant reply.

“Angie I am not attracted to-”

“That’s right. You’re the good guy. Now how about I find you a different date eh? There’s bound to be plenty of other girls just _dying_ to get into your pants. But on the other hand,” she looked up, thinking. “I guess I can’t really blame you. She do got booty.”

“ _Angela!_ ” Lena cried, appalled. “I am in _no_ way sexually –or mentally –attracted to her!”

Angela halted in her wiping, leaning an elbow onto the counter and facing Lena. “Oh really?”

Lena only pouted, looking away and focusing on drying the already dry dish in her hand. “Yes.”

“So you mean to tell me that all those flirtatious comments you two constantly exchange on the battle field are just combat gimmicks?”

“Of course.”

“What about the many Widowmaker Google Search’s I occasionally find opened on your laptop?”

“Research. Getting to know the –um, enemy better.”

“And how about when I find you passed out on the couch mumbling a name–what was it again? Ah yes. A _sexy spidey_ motherfu-“

“That was in my sleep!” she rushed to interrupt, face clearly becoming a rushing beat of red. “I can’t control what I say in my sleep!”

“Lena the amount of denial I can feel coming off from your skin is just _unbearable_. Honestly hun, it’s really not that bad. You know I just worry for you.”

“Well don’t worry,” she huffed, flustered yet unable to hide a small grin from forming. “I’ll have you know I can handle myself just fine.”

“Famous last words.”

“Gah.”

“These are your dishes I’m washing you know.”

“ _Anyway_ , I’ve already made up my mind. I’m going to pay her a visit.”

“Then why bother telling me?”

“Needed advice which you didn’t really help with to be honest. But more importantly, in case I mysteriously disappear.”

“Ah, of course.”

She put the drying clothe down, Angela having finished the remainder of the dishes. “You know, you still haven’t told me how your even going to find her. It shouldn’t be an easy task looking for where an assassin sleeps.”

“Oh I’ve already got that covered love,” she grinned, snapping on her jacket and heading towards the door. “Easy-peasey.”

“Then –how?”

“I’ve followed her home before. A lot.”

 “My god child...*why even bother denying it*…”

_…_

_…_

_…_

Lena was there in five minutes flat.

Even despite the fairly remote location, the apartment building was nothing too special of the sort. A bit shabby, but comfortable in the long run. Ignoring the elevator and sneaking past the sleeping door man, she was zooming up the stairs and stopping at the second to highest level, opening the door and making her way towards the targeted room.

 **I 12** –written in bold golden letter.

Here’s where our protagonist begins to question her ultimate motives. Or at least that’s what she tells herself. Questioning her motives, or more over inquiring the all of a sudden clammy hands at her sides. Not to mention the way her stomach seemed to flip while her fingers reached and retracted from the doorknob.

_Just ring it!_

_Maybe she’s sleeping…_

_Ring it ya’ coward!_

_Respect her privacy?_

_Hurry up and press the button! Get it over with!_

_Alright, goodness._

So she rings it. Once. Twice. Thrice. No answer to her avail.

Hence however, when trying the doorknob –it opens smoothly. Not a single “creak” as she cautiously, very _very_ cautiously cracks it open and slips in, closing it behind her.

It’s dark.

While she’s never really been overly fond of it, it doesn’t really maker her necessarily dislike it either.

Second thing noticed, it smells like _her_. Strange factor to notice, but truthfully overwhelming when it comes down to sight still adjusting into the darkness. A jasmine honey sweet smell that Lena found herself inhaling with a smile.

“ello’?”

A pause that seemed to last a definite minute of silence.

And then – nothing still.

So she continued on, a wary tip-toe in every step she took. By now her goggles were drawn up to her hair while her jacket was pulled securely over her chest to hide the blue light. Vision had become accustomed, so now she was searching for any signs of a figure at all.

It was spider territory after all. Who knows, maybe _Widowmaker is actually nocturna-_

The thought hardly left her mind when a groan split through the silence of the area, resulting in Lena nearly losing her pants at jumping –startled as a rabbit is to a sneaking fox –and quickly zooming underneath a nearby coffee table.

“Breathe Lena-” she whispered to herself, breathing hard in and out. _Calm_ _down already you idiot_.

A minute later, she was crawling out from underneath the table and, while remaining low, crouch-walked her way towards the room where the noise had come from. Although the sound hadn’t been too threatening in any way, one can never be _too_ careful.

The bedroom.

_Well duh._

And suddenly, Tracer was horrified. Mortified really. She had literally just broken into a _gorgeous_ –ahem, a woman’s house. For what reason? Checking up on her status. Ridiculous.

The amount of shame she felt was almost intolerable. She was just about ready to zoom her way out the open window when another moan sliced through the hours of the night. Shuffling sheets and a hiss, murmurs of jumbled words lining with frost that seemed to crawl right along Lena’s spine.

_This is absurd._

Yet she shivered, looking down at the carpeted floor before glancing back up and into the crack of the bedrooms door.

Because.

It never really occurred to her that bad guys can have nightmares too.

So.

So she marched on in there. Only to shake her head and march right back on out. Once more, slapping at her face and turning right back around. Spinning on her heel and heading back out the door.

What to do _what to do._

“Tracer.”

For Lena, time might as well stopped right there. Which was an odd feeling for her, considering the time alternations she experiences almost on a daily basis. Her back was stiff and yet with great care, her body was turned to face the woman who was now sitting up from her bed. Muddled hair and an uncharacterized baggy t-shirt.

(Blush overload.)

“W’sup love?” she ginned, waving sheepishly.

Easily said, but to muster the courage in actually speaking while that sun piercing stare just gazed holes right into your head. Terrorizing from Lena’s perspective.

“What are you doing? In my. House.”

“Oh well –you see I may have sort’a kind of accidently took’a little tiny _huge_ wrong turn.”

“…”

“…*smiles*…”

“Get out.”

“Right, on it!”

Thirty seconds she was out the front and slamming it behind her.

Oh but what to do, _what to do_.

…

…

…

 “A dozen donuts please.”

“A dozen donuts right u-oh _my_ you look awful ma’am!”

Lena thought back on her night spent pacing outside Widowmaker’s room. She shrugged.

“Well, dozen donuts on its way. I’ll throw in some coffee there too. On the house.”

“Thanks love.”

Contemplating would be of the best term to use when describing her restless night. Just thinking and _thinking_ over every encounter, every hidden compliment within an insult. More than ridiculous, just simply incongruous! Illogical on one side yet logical on the other. Frustration was what fueled her sleepless body, confusion to her tanks of adrenaline.

“There you are,” he informed, handing over the box of goods and coffee cup. “You might want to try and get some rest while you’re at it.”

“Sure,” she nodded, taking a long swig of the coffee and shaking her head. A smile made its way onto her feature when she looked back at him. “Thanks sir.”

“No prob. Feel free to visit anyti-” He was hardly able to get through the entire sentence before she was gone, disappearing in a dust of blue. Only shrugging, he began whistling a chipper tune and continued unboxing the donuts.

It was the final gesticulation for her. Putting together all the pieces of the scattered sticky puzzle. There was no more denying, no more hiding it from the truth.

She raised her hand to the doorbell, doing her best to keep from going red.

_Ding_

It was only a short second before she heard the sound of footsteps making their way to the door, pausing, and after an eternal second seeing the door knob turn and door open.

Standing there in all God’s beauty.

“What.”

Wearing boxer briefs.

And pissed off beyond Lena’s comprehension.

Taking a deep, _deep_ breathe, she began nonetheless.

 “So I just wanted to start off by saying how awfully sorry I am for lit-er-ally breaking into your apartment yesterday. Not only was it inconsiderate, but it was no doubt upfront and outspokenly rude. I invaded your personal boundaries and took it upon myself to check up a little too closely on you by letting my personal sentiments get in the way of common sense. As an apology, I brought you these donuts,” she held out the donuts to her. “Also, I’ve noticed in our recent skirmishes of your constant preoccupied behavior. These are also to cheer ya’ up.”

Well it was safe to say here--

That Widowmaker was utterly disgusted. If not slightly amused as well.

And perhaps, very little of the sort, somewhat pleased.

Lena was _shaking_ though, eyes closed tightly and prepared for the ultimate rejection. Hell, maybe getting shot on the spot would have been better than the agony she stood in at the moment.

Even when the box was lifted from her, and even when a ghost of a wisp of a pair of cold lips touched at her cheek.

“Merci chérie.”[Thank you darling]

Her eyes snapped open. “OhH you’re welc-”

But the door had already slammed shut, leaving Lena to some extent confused, but mostly just giddy beyond belief. Pumping a fist into the air, she ran and jumped out the window while whooping continuously with every teleport.

From her selected spot atop the apartment building, Angela could only smile. Fareeha on the other hand had her head snuggled onto medic’s lap, snoring away.

Widowmaker, raising an eyebrow to the scrap of paper with a scribbled number written on it, rolled her eyes and scoffed.

 

_Call me if you need company love_

_:)_

_Quelle folie chérie._

 

_[What a foolish darling.]_


End file.
